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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249935">intrabit hortus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacchics/pseuds/bacchics'>bacchics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>triumvirate au [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Percy Jackson and the Olympians &amp; Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Gen, Kissing, Triumvirate Wins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:01:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacchics/pseuds/bacchics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Purple hyacinths burst through, fully bloomed and more radiant than the others. Annabeth laid her pencil against the board and for a moment, took a closer look at Meg.</p><p>She had changed since the first time they’d met. Taller, hair longer, some baby-fat shed away, but still very much a child. With a low murmur, she called the girl over, wanting to envelop her in a tight hug. Do away with the work. They would braid, joke with one another. Anything to have a smile grace that lonesome, haunted face.</p><p>But when Meg turned, her frown switched to scowl and her eyes lifted, glaring at something beyond her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Apollo/Commodus (Percy Jackson)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>triumvirate au [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>intrabit hortus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Meg ripped a flower from its root; the manner in which she did so was both gentle and malicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a bright day. Not hot—bright. Sunlight streamed down across the small stretch of garden they occupied, glinting against everything it touched, stone and plant alike. Annabeth had to squint to trace lines along the papers in her lap. Another building, another temple, another city taken. It would have been better to create inside, where she didn’t have to balance a wooden slab across her knees, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—remain in there. Where guards lingered in doorways and the stuffy smell of ancient, stolen scrolls suffocated her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg kicked a pile of dirt across the spotless walkway. Dark clumps scattered this way and that, a few rolling underneath the hem of her chiton. Annabeth sighed as the girl walked up to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t nice,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care,” Meg said, tone indifferent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know a nymph will get blamed for that, then chastised, then have to clean it herself when it wasn’t her fault to begin with.” Annabeth looked up from the sketch to give a second scolding with her eyes, but a pout already marred the girl’s face. Her head hung low towards the flower in her hand; a lily, in full bloom. With gentle motions, she pushed the stem into Annabeth’s curls and nestled the flower in the crook of her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Meg plopped down and scraped the dirt back in line along the path, no doubt ruining the bottom of her dress. Annabeth did not want to see what it would look like when she stood. Despite her well-intentioned efforts, dark streaks remained across the stone and a mound of barren dirt sat amongst the other lilies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With practiced, subtle movements, she hovered a hand over the patch and closed her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purple hyacinths burst through, fully bloomed and more radiant than the others. Annabeth laid her pencil against the board and for a moment, took a closer look at Meg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had changed since the first time they’d met. Taller, hair longer, some baby-fat shed away, but still very much a child. With a low murmur, she called the girl over, wanting to </span>
  <span>envelop her in a tight hug. Do away with the work. They would braid, joke with one another. Anything to have a smile grace that lonesome, haunted face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when Meg turned, her frown switched to scowl and her eyes lifted, glaring at something beyond her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or right behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meg, darling,” Commodus purred. “Nero wants to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing better than to argue, the girl harrumphed and stood, brushing the dirt from her dress. Marks still remained, marring the light green it had been moments before. After sending one last glare, Meg pecked her on the cheek and ran off. Annabeth could hear her sandals slap against the ground as she went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the footsteps were fainter than feathers, Commodus came around the bench. Deep purple robes draped over his frame, but she caught sight of plated, golden armor underneath. A smile, one that expected her to return it, rested on his face. The sun glinted off his dark curls, creating somewhat of a halo; what an absolute irony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bowed her head, “Lord Commodus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did not comment on her short acknowledgment, only extended his arm to her. “Take the air with me.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Their path took them to a livelier area—gurgling fountains, waterways, passersby. Annabeth busied herself with them all, reluctant to face him. It was only when she noticed he had yet to start conversation that she turned, expecting a focused stare, a taunting smile, but nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Commodus had his eyes forward and appeared, above all things, relaxed. She took the invitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No suit,” she started. He glanced at her, then down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not today, no. Meetings, formalities, formal meetings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More silence. Far-off laughter drifted through the trees. Fawns and dryads chasing one another, unbothered and unaware that officials lurked nearby. Her heart surged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yours and Perseus’ company in my chambers was well-appreciated,” he said. That thudding organ missed a beat and a harsh breath slipped through her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well-appreciated.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Anything for the triad,” she said, chin held high, and caught a glimpse of the distant Pacific, blue and bright, waves slashing long, white streaks along the expanse. “That’s not why you’re here though.” It couldn’t be. Not enough weeks had passed since the last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They came to a halt and after an unnerving silence, she glanced up to catch his stare. A strange, narrowed look that made her brows knit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>triad?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He sounded aghast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hummed in question, clueless to his games. It was odd how often you could be around someone and not know a thing about them. She thought she had the emperor down to his essentials, but his mannerisms—his everything—managed to evade her understanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nero liked power. Caligula liked blood. Commodus liked </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A butterfly flew between them, startling her and stopping whatever he had been about to say. She watched it land and took it in hand. The paper-thin wings brushed her knuckles as she waited for his composure to return. It fluttered nervously, yellow and blue brightened by the sun. She thought to rip it in two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was an incident in the gladiator barracks. One of your lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cold, clammy sweat swept down her spine. Tension licked through her, from one limb to the next, reaching a crescendo in her lungs in the form of a slick, slimy smoke that made her sick and burned her throat. If the ground fissured at her feet and Tartarus claimed her once again, she wouldn’t mind. This hadn’t happened in many months, she’d kept count. Something had gone terribly wrong—and whoever was there, needed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabeth blinked and turned. The butterfly flew off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Take me to them.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The path weaved through lilacs and poppies, down rows of cypress and past a grove, further from the gardens and across the great expanse that separated the main palace from the colosseum and it’s training grounds. She could still remember designing it—a large field broken up by white, wide pathways and trimmed green lawns. Fountain promenades and artistic shrubbery. </span>
  <em>
    <span>To create separation between politics and war, between business and battles,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back then, she wanted to buy her friends more time with the distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, she only enjoyed the scenery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They kept to themselves for most of the walk, until a guard came to wrestle away her sketches; a tense moment where the board splintered her palm until she relinquished her grip. Commodus took her hands and healed the hard, red marks, ignoring her burning stare all the while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only when they veered left, further inland, near the low-lying barracks and prison cells, did she begin to worry. And only when she teetered at the top of the steep, stone stairwell did she want to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words refused to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Commodus watched her, “If you don’t talk with them. We’ll have one of our men do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The underground was a long, dank, endless hall of doors broken up by the occasional thin window that lined the high walls and let small fractures of light slant down. Dirt and dust spun through the rays, making her squint, blinding her so harshly that—when she was ushered inside a cell—the world pitched into black. The door creaked shut behind her and footsteps slipped farther away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But never too far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked furiously as blue static danced across her vision, revealing the person before her bit by bit until she was sickened by the sight. A bruised and bloodied woman, huddled against the stone, tired and defeated. The iron stench of blood and sweat toxified the air. Sparring armor outlined the muscled body, fitting like a second skin, and paired with a litter of fresh cuts to tell a story that wouldn’t be told. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarisse,” she murmured; her knees dropped dead in the sand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do this anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span> she started to say, tears brimming her eyes like jewels, but then Clarisse looked at her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>into her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the dead stare of indifference was all she found. Not anger, not grief, only apathy; surrender. Those eyes told a simple truth, if she could not mend this woman here and now, it would be the last time they saw one another. One of her longest friends, her dearest companions, someone that she could not lose. With urgency, she took Clarisse’s face between her hands, held it gently and spoke, voice thick and viciously pained, “For me,” she said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“for me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes passed in silence, filled by her shaky breath and the slight exchange of weight as Clarisse leaned further into her palms. Perhaps in that time, a conversation did take place, one that neither of them had the energy to voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere—between the hurt and loss so intertwined they could no longer exist alone, where the pain of their ruined camp could not reach, where their teacher’s absence did not feel deafening, where hope might still exist even though Pandora’s jar had been shattered to a thousand, beautiful pieces in front of them—Clarisse found the spark to go on because she looked at her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>only her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabeth swallowed her tears, took the flower from her tresses and nestled it in the other’s. It dawned on her the severity it held to be the pinpoint of someone’s survival, how special was she, how much hope did she carry, how much expectation could she meet?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To kill a snake that had already tightened, break an inescapable cage. Impossible things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out of your head, Chase.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get us out of here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she heard instead and left the cell in a storm.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Commodus caught her wrist mid-swing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The snarl on her face only deepened as she struggled against his grip, but he held firm. A flurry of curls had begun to slip from their braided confine and she blew at them haphazardly. He looked bored and it only stoked her anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Roach,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she spat. “Get her ambrosia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If any of us had been there she wouldn’t have been beaten. She would have received lashes,” he said as if it excused the circumstance, as if it excused </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The whole world being torn down and pieced back together. “What you said before,” he started, brows knitting, and it made her freeze, “anything for the triad—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blissful unknowing she had experienced before, at the start of their journey, came hurtling back toward her only to turn into a harsh realization. Clarisse barely mattered. Of course, that’s what had taken his focus this entire time. From the very moment the words had left her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be a sin worthy of the Fields of Punishment not to irritate him further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wrenched her wrist free, “Yes, my loyalty to the triad is undying. If the other emperors saw fit that Percy and I visit their chambers late into the night there is nothing that would stop us from answering their request.” Her frame shook and the next words came out in a whispered tremble, “If you prefer us to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>whores perhaps you should make it more obvious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabeth left him there in the dark, with the dirt and her friend and her fury.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She had not expected Commodus to take her challenge to heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning—during the weekly progress report—he strolled in late, slipped a hand about her waist and kissed her. It would have been chaste had he not done it again, and again and again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took his seat not a moment later, unbothered and passive, as if nothing had happened at all. The other emperors were wearing similar expressions of disgust and exasperation. The impression of his fingertips still scorched her waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nero motioned with his hand, “Keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Find some class,” Caligula said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Commodus didn’t bat an eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabeth hurried through the rest of the meeting that day, trying and failing to catch his stare, and after many flustered hours, she finally began to think. Pencil tapping desktop, halfway designs lying in wait, crumpled papers brushing her bare feet as her leg bounced. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Was it done out of want or obligation? </span>
  </em>
  <span>she asked herself again and again, just as he had kissed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never kissed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been such a trivial errand to escort her to Clarisse; not worthy of an emperor. They had long understood their roles in Triumvirate’s new world. The triad did not have to fear monger in person any longer. A guard could have done it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Want or obligation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers grazed gently the grooves of her lower lip. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Want.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cages nought be broken in the instance someone supplied a key.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All kudos and comments are received with pleasure and gratitude.</p><p>Thank you.</p><p>If any classicist finds the title incorrect, I do apologize. The goal was to translate 'enter garden' in Latin; a playful take on a stage direction as a fic title.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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